


The Strange and Mysterious Tale of Luciano da Silva, or How Miguel and Julio Learned Things Aren't Always What They Seem.

by inquisitioned



Category: Latin Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Supernatural AU - Freeform, this thing is ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitioned/pseuds/inquisitioned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all, it was hard to keep from coming out and telling the pretty girl behind the counter of the crappy diner where Miguel was currently buying his little brother lunch that he was actually a “Master of The Dark Trade of Hunting Ye Olde Monsters of Variant Shapes and Monstrosity”, or (in shorthand), a demon hunter, barely making better than minimum wage and living the high life of Coleman-cooked campfire food and more ramen noodles than was good for anyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Strange and Mysterious Tale of Luciano da Silva, or How Miguel and Julio Learned Things Aren't Always What They Seem.

It was a dark and stormy night. 

In all actuality, it was a rather pleasant Tuesday. Miguel Alejándro Prado took a bit of pleasure in making his job feel like a horror movie—because otherwise, it seemed too real. When asked about his work, he always responded with a bright smile and told people he had a cubicle job for a corporation. He’d never been a good liar, so telling the sort-of truth seemed to be the best way to go. After all, Sebastián Artigas, his boss, did in fact run a corporation. 

It was when they asked for a name that he blanched. 

After all, it was hard to keep from coming out and telling the pretty girl behind the counter of the crappy diner where Miguel was currently buying his little brother lunch that he was actually a “Master of The Dark Trade of Hunting Ye Olde Monsters of Variant Shapes and Monstrosity”, or (in shorthand), a demon hunter, barely making better than minimum wage and living the high life of Coleman-cooked campfire food and more ramen noodles than was good for anyone. 

The thoughts of a quick cover story disappeared from his mind as the woman returned to the counter, holding a red and white basket full to the brim of salchipapa and a gigantic container of aji sauce. Miguel’s smile quadrupled across his face and he immediately handed her his credit card —“Mister Tupac, is it?”—taking the container of food like it was the holy grail. There were nothing like travel days, where the boss presented them with fake passports and a skinny manila folder that held their identities and the Freak of the Week.

Today they were in Peru and Miguel wasn’t going to waste any chance to adore his home country’s cuisine. Trotting over to the table in the back corner of the diner, Miguel set the plate down with a flourish and slid into his booth seat, passing the teen across the table an Inca Kola. 

Julio had been staring at the neatly typed fact sheet on his desk—his eyes grew to the size of saucers as the smell hit his nose and he eagerly reached for the aji sauce, taking off the plastic lid and setting it just an inch or two closer to himself than to Miguel. The younger of the two Prado brothers, Julio was the spitting image of Miguel, right down to the way their hair curled, and he apparently shared his voracious appetite as well. Taking a piece of potato and dunking it into the sauce, he muttered a thank you and took a bite. Miguel was the first to speak, reaching across the table and taking the fact sheet from him. “So?” 

“I read the whole thing and I have no damn idea.” Julio stated, surreptitiously taking out a small bottle of ash from the pocket of his pants and setting it on the table; he uncorked it and shook a small amount into the aji sauce, stirring it with his fry. “Boss wasn’t very specific about what it actually is. Just that we’re supposed to douse it in as much holy water as possible.” 

“A lot of it?” What else was new? Typically, denizens of the dark didn’t enjoy holy water. Miguel glanced down at the neat white-and-blue paper, noting the ?? filled into the classification slot, and the ‘very dangerous, approach with caution and well armed’ written in Sebastián’s perfect handwriting along the side of the previously typed information. Their boss was surprisingly patient (or at least Miguel liked to think he was patient—he often couldn’t read exactly what Sebastián was thinking. For the record, that was probably a good thing.) and often provided them with personal notes from his own collection about the creatures that went bump in the night. Miguel traced his finger across the notes, a slight frown crossing his face. “Is there anything else? About how to take it out, I mean.” 

“Aside from the usshual antipothesshion thtuff—” Swallow. “Not really.” 

“Oh.” Miguel took a fry and dipped it generously in the mixture, tapping the side of the bowl as he started to think. Sebastián had been very specific in that there was no capturing this one, but had only given them one method to kill it. It was unusual, especially with something as simple as “holy water”. And how much was a lot, anyway? Quite honestly, Miguel wasn’t too keen on throwing Molotov cocktails of rosaries and firehoses until he figured out which one made the demon explode. 

Something would have to work out. Right? 

Julio shook a little extra ash into his palm and plugged his nose with his other hand, taking it like a disgusting pill and making a face—his precaution made Miguel’s brows knit together in worry, and he took an extra bite of the aji sauce, making sure to get some that was peppered with grey. The younger teenager coughed and took a sip from his drink, asking his brother, “Where is the dumb thing? Let’s get this over with.” 

“We have to wait until night, Julito! Don’t be silly. Besides, I heard there was a great little place down the street to go dance—” 

“Miguel.” 

“What? Apparently the guy’s been hanging out around there.” Miguel pointed out with a near triumphant grin, digging in his pockets for what appeared to be a battered map, locations circled in bright red crayon. His finger traced over the x’s and o’s, and Julio sipped from his soda, watching him with a frown. “Here, where the dance club is, and then, there’s a football pitch down the street, and there’s this monument—” 

 

“This thing sounds more like a tourist than a demon,” Julio grumbled, watching Miguel proudly fold the map into some amalgamation of a square and tuck it back into his pocket. “I’m calling bullshit.” 

“Well…maybe Basti is trying to give us a vacation?” Miguel’s lips quirked into a hopeful grin and Julio snorted into his soda—there was no way in hell. 

 

Literally. 

 

“Either way, we have time to waste!” chirped the eager Peruvian, reaching past the now empty tray of salchipapa and clapping his brother on the shoulder as he started to scooch his way out of the booth. “And some scouting to do.” 

Julio barely had time to roll his eyes—Miguel grabbed him by the arm as he got up, and out into the town they went, disguised as a couple of tourists and trying to mingle with the local flavor of the town. There was a strange feeling over the place—people greeted them cheerfully, enough so that it made Miguel, practically the sunshine himself, look downright grumpy. They approached what was supposedly one of the town’s loveliest offerings, a beautiful church with a steeple that seemed to brush the clouds and a glowing silver cross that made Julio squint as he tried to take it in. 

Beside him, Miguel took a step forward towards the church, awed at its size, and promptly bumped into a young woman—the two of them clattered to the floor, and Miguel groaned, starting to clamber to his knees and already manage a hurried apology. The woman looked up at him, and the hunter had to take a moment to stare; she was stunningly beautiful, with dark skin and dark eyes. What stuck out most though, to himself and certainly to Julio, who had grabbed his brother’s arm in an attempt to help him up, were the white dots across her face, painted in neat, perfect rows from ear to ear. 

“I’m so sorry!” Miguel reached for the girl’s arm, but she shook him off— and Julio watched in astonishment as she clapped twenty soles into the palm of his hand with barely a second glance and simply a smile. 

Julio turned his head to the side. “How did you do that?” 

“What?” The comment went over Miguel’s head—he was staring at the banknote in his hand with wide golden eyes, and he looked up at Julio and back down at it. “Dude, she just gave me a twenty for no reason! Man, I love Peru!” 

“…no reason?” Julio frowned as he took the soles out of Miguel’s hands, holding it up to the sunlight as if to check if it was real—Miguel just laughed at him and took it back, ruffling his hair. “What did she say?”

“She just said “have a blessed day” and handed it to me before she left!” Miguel beamed and pocketed the note, chirping, “Julito, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, you know? Maybe she just thought I was cute!” 

Rolling his eyes at his older brother, Julio trailed after him as he started to make his way towards the football pitch, the second sighting on their little list. The woman had planted a seed of suspicion in his mind, and the teenager’s eyes were suddenly a little more trained to the goings on of the town—he hadn’t seen a single angry, scowling person, a single screaming match. Two people got in a major accident on the road, and they were laughing and shaking hands like old friends. 

Something was definitely wrong here. Julio elbowed Miguel as they passed the scene of the wreck, pulling him over into the small crowd of onlookers. The two shared a confused glance before Miguel stepped forward, offering a bright smile and tapping one of the men on the shoulder. “Is everything okay, gentlemen? I’m a police officer!” 

The man beamed and reached for Miguel’s hand, giving it an appreciatory shake—he didn’t even bother to ask for ID. Julio watched, baffled. “Of course everything’s all right! On such a great day like this, how couldn’t it be?” 

“But your car’s totaled!” Julio piped up from Miguel’s side, stepping forwards and shifting his hands into his pockets as if to try and cast a more official profile—with his stature, it never worked, but he could often glare the people they interviewed under different disguises into submission. 

The other man frowned lightly at him, like he was a gnat that could be swatted, and waved a finger in Julio’s general direction. “Now, we don’t take that kind of negativity in this town, señor! Officer, you should make sure your deputy checks his attitude at the door!” 

“Haha, of course!” Miguel reached over and hugged Julio around the shoulder, but his grip was tighter than usual—he’d noticed too, and it kept Julio from squawking and elbowing his elder brother in the gut until he let go. “You guys sure are…uh, positive.” 

“How can we not be? We’ve been visited by God.”

“By…God?” Now came the exchanged look, and Miguel let go of Julio’s shoulders, his expression shifting into one of perplexity. The elder brother looked between the two smiling men—they didn’t seem to have any injuries, despite the fact that the crash looked as though it should have killed them both, and neither of them even made a motion to crack their necks. 

“By Oxalá!” The Portuguese phrase rolled strangely off of the man’s tongue, and he nodded eagerly as Miguel repeated the phrase after him, mentally taking it down to look up later. “He is taking care of us all.”

“…thanks for your time.” Before Miguel could say anything else, Julio quickly cut him off, tugging his brother’s sleeve and bidding the two men goodbye as they disappeared back into the crowd, melding through the throngs of cheerful, smiling people and back towards the diner where they’d made their first meal of the day, attached to a small motel. As they made their way into the room, Miguel locked the door behind him and went for his laptop, pressing the on button and flicking it open, looking over the top of the gray casing as Julio settled across from him, asking, “What was that about?”

The elder brother shrugged his shoulders, tapping out his password. “Something weird’s going on. Like more weird than usual.” 

“No shit, Miguel.” Julio folded his arms as he slid into the chair, his lower back hitting the plastic-coated cushion; he levelled his gaze to the edge of the table, brows furrowing over his dark eyes, “A bunch of crazy people in a town in the asscrack of nowhere talking about miracles and nobody dies.” 

“Watch your mouth, Julito.” Before he could defend himself, Miguel abruptly tapped the table and Julio snapped his mouth shut to listen. “I found it! Okay. Oxalá, also known as Obatala, is the creator of human bodies, and the owner of all heads.”

“Creepy.”

“It says here the Yoruba believe that he’s a dying and rising God, and he’s celebrated in several places, but the religion’s only spread in South America through Brazil.” Miguel wrinkled his nose and stared at the computer screen, scrolling past the images, a beautiful woman dressed in white—people painted, with white dots on their faces, flower water being poured lovingly over the steps of a church. 

Julio had come around the side of the table, and he leaned on the chair behind Miguel, watching the screen with his brows creased. “So…why’s it in Peru?”

“Maybe it just loves the people?”

“Miguel.”

“Seriously! Hear me out. Maybe it just decided that the people in this town deserved its attention. Or something.” Miguel shut his laptop and leaned back in his chair, taking out the folded paper from Sebastián’s file and reading it. “Like that girl, right? She looked like the people on the webpage.”

“Either way, no one’s allowed to just…not get hurt. And not get pissed at each other. That’s just not right.” Julio grumbled, shaking his head. “We should check out that church again; it’s probably his hiding place. Whatever he is.”

Miguel chuckled as he shut the file. ”I dunno, Julio. Maybe the people’s attitude would do you some good.” 

Julio’s response was to throw a paper ball at him. 

— 

It was around midnight when they stepped out from the dark of the motel room, Miguel armed with a homemade torch and Julio with a gun magazine full of rock salt pellets. It was typical demon dispersion and exactly what Sebastián had told Miguel to do over the phone, but there was an uneasy feeling in his gut as he approached the church, the moonlight casting the shape of the cross above them into the ground. He kept glancing to the side, making sure Julio was close beside him and took his first step on to the holy ground. 

There was a crunch. 

Miguel jumped backwards and stared down at the spot he had been standing in—there was a single snail shell on the ground, crushed into pieces by the weight of his foot. His brows furrowed and he squatted down, reaching to pick up one of the shells, but was interrupted by a voice, deep and booming. 

“That was an offering you destroyed, mortal! Are you prepared to pay the sacrifice?”

Miguel’s heart leapt and twisted as the anxiety built in his stomach like wildfire—he lifted his makeshift torch and looked around, taking an unconscious step backwards so he and Julio were back to back. The younger brother lifted his gun and Miguel kept his eyes on the church, watching.   
“I don’t think I brought the right currency!”

Typical Miguel, corny as all hell—Julio almost elbowed him, but before he could open his mouth and speak, there was a great gust of wind that rattled the grasses and the crosses on the church, and the younger sibling threw his arm up to protect his face from whatever was coming. Beside him, he heard Miguel strike a match, ready to light his blowtorch, but the wind suddenly diminished to just a breath from the lips of a creature standing near by, just enough to put out the match. 

Miguel whipped his head to the side and lit another—whatever it was laughed at them, warm and mischievous, and disappeared, reappearing just a few feet from the two of them with his hands out to the side. Shaped like a human, it had dark skin, coal black eyes, and a shock of curly black hair; by all appearances, it was completely normal. What made him stand out was his clothing—everything was white and made a stark contrast against his dark skin and brilliant, white smile. “You’re in the presence of a God, you know! That was pretty funny.”

“You’re not a god.” Now, it was Julio who spoke up, turning away from Miguel and staring the young man in the eyes, raising his gun up to level with his face. “I’ve seen gods before, and you’re definitely not.”

“The people think I am.” The man responded cryptically, raising his hand towards the church—the silver gleamed in the moonlight, throwing dancing shadows over the fabric of his white tunic, “Can’t you see it? I’ve got a great thing going on here! I’m not hurting anyone. They build me a shrine, they tell me I’m awesome and bring me things, and I keep them alive and happy. What’s the problem?”

“The problem is that you can’t just screw with life like that!” Julio replied quickly, cocking the gun and closing one eye, preparing to fire—before he had the choice, the man disappeared again, this time in a blur, and reappeared holding the muzzle of Julio’s gun. 

“Says who?”

“Miguel—!” Julio turned his head just a split second, fast enough to get out of the way—Miguel pulled the trigger and the blowtorch exploded, sending a stream of fire at the demon, who screeched and clawed at the air, starting to fizzle through the heat—Julio exhaled and pulled his gun out of the way, discharging the rock salt bullet, only to find a hand pressed over the muzzle again. 

It was the man, completely unscathed, grinning like a wild beast, and floating just an inch or two off the ground. 

“Made you look~”  
Julio fired off a shot and the thing laughed again, appearing in front of Miguel and throwing his hands up. “Oh come on, you’re better than that! Hit me with your best shot!”

As Miguel shot the blowtorch again, Julio scrambled behind him, reaching for another round off of Miguel’s belt and rolling on the ground, getting to his knees as quick as he could and firing off another shot. The thing yawned and reappeared in front of Julio, and in one blurry motion, threw a kick that sent the teenager flying across the church yard. 

“Julio!” Miguel snapped his head to the side and chucked the blowtorch to the side—obviously something wasn’t working here—then rushed the demon, throwing a punch that landed solidly into the thing’s stomach. It made a strange noise and turned to Miguel, voice almost petulant but smile still shark-teethed and wide. 

“Ow.” And then, it was off again, ducking down towards the ground in a low fighting stance and aiming a perfect kick at Miguel, who barely ducked out of the way. The two grappled across the courtyard, Miguel taking a hit across the face from one ridiculously strong kick (and nothing but kicks, it had been nothing but dancing and moving and kicking, and quite frankly, Miguel wasn’t sure how this was considered legitimate until he got socked in the nose). He hit the ground and scrambled back to his feet, rubbing the blood from his mouth and looking over at Julio, who had jumped back to his feet. 

The teenager dashed forward and tried to leap onto the thing’s back, and succeeded, latching on. It shouted a curse and reached for Julio’s arms, whirling them both in a circle and sending him sailing back onto the ground. Julio coughed as his back hit the ground and gasped, “What the hell—”

“I don’t know!” Miguel managed, rushing over to help Julio—the younger hunter was already to his feet, and threw a punch at the thing’s face, “Sebastián said that—”

The man lifted his arm, catching Julio’s hand, and stopped him mid motion; everything settled, like the leaves after a storm. “Did you say Sebastián?”

“I—what?” Miguel dropped his fighting stance and the god grinned, fanning himself with his free hand, keeping the other firmly clasped over the struggling Julio’s fist “—Let go of him!”

“Sebastián. Sebastián Artigas. Right? Can you take me to him?”

Miguel blinked. “….what?”

“Take me to him!. Seriously though. I’ll hitch a ride with you guys, it’ll be great. My name’s Luciano, by the way!” Finally, the man—Luciano—let go of Julio, who wrenched his arm free and took a step back; he leapt forward to attack Luciano again, and the supposed god simply raised an arm, sending him throwing backwards. “Dude. Trying to have a conversation here.”

Miguel gaped as Luciano turned his attention back to the elder brother, grinning. “So?”

“Leave my brother alone! And—” Hurrying to Julio’s side, Miguel crouched down beside him and checked him over for wounds, Luciano’s words echoing in his head. Slowly, he turned to glance at Luciano as Julio did the same, and chose his words. “I…guess so. But—you have to act like our prisoner. And you can’t help these people anymore!”

“Deal!” Luciano snapped his fingers and there arose a great cry from the city—before Miguel could even get back on his feet, he heard a thud and a great rumble. There was a terrible sounding noise from the city center, a woman’s mournful scream; it didn’t take Miguel long to realize that people were dying. All around them—the girl who’d given Miguel the soles, the men in the car accident, the crowds of smiling people at the football pitch—in one fell swoop, they were dead. An eerie silence rose over the entire town, and Miguel felt his heart hammering in his chest as he stared at Luciano; a familiar rage quelled in his stomach, and he looked back from the view over the hilltop to the man, his hands moving to a wild gesture, “All those people, you just—you just killed them?! They had lives, and they never asked for you to show up here! You just…came, and you gave them everything they ever needed, and now they’re dead?!” 

Luciano put his hands in his pockets, his face still cool, his smile still on his face as if the entire thing was a game. “You told me not to mess with people’s lives, didn’t you? Problem cleaned up, just like that.”

Miguel’s stomach twisted into a knot, and he let his hands drop—his voice was hushed, tinged with a mix of horror, disgust, and disbelief. “…What are you?”

Luciano just smiled, letting his hand drop to the side. “If I told you, you’d be just like them.”

Behind them, the silver church bell began to ring, ominous and deep. 

—-

“Do you have any idea when those idiots are supposed to come back?”

“I’d give it an hour or so.”

A young man in a dark coat tilted his head to the side, cracking his neck with one hand and sinking into one of the plush chairs in Sebastián’s comfortable office. The feathers on his back rustled as he got comfortable, and the man leaned forwards, folding his large wings together to sit in the chair as he ran his hands over his forehead. 

“Might you be worried, Manuel?” Sebastián’s sounded amused as he glanced from the small pile of paperwork on his desk, his mouth formed into the smallest smile—Manuel scoffed and shook his head. 

“Worried? Ha. If they get killed, it’ll be one less thing for me to worry about.”

“You’re an exemplary angel.”

“And besides, things’ll be fine. Miguel’s practically invincible. His stupid protects him.” 

Manuel leaned back into the seat, and Sebastián shook his head, lifting his head and pushing a stray feather away from his face without a touch. Turning his bespectacled gaze upwards, he paused to look at the door. “We have guests.”

And just like that, three people burst into the room. Miguel looked triumphant, and was holding Luciano by the arm, while Julio followed behind them, shaking his head. Before Miguel could open his mouth to explain his prisoner, Luciano burst forward and beamed, throwing his arms in the air. “Sebi!”

“Hello, Luciano. I trust they didn’t give you much trouble?”

“No, of course not! I mean, they tried to set me on fire. Very funny, by the way.” 

The two carried on for a moment, Luciano bright and energetic and Sebastián as composed as ever—it was as if they were old friends, and Luciano even sat on Sebastián’s perfectly composed desk, mussing the papers. 

Miguel gawked. “You—I—what—”

“What disguise did you put on this time, Luciano?”

As the tanned man stretched across Sebastián’s desk, there was a great rustling and a pair of wings split themselves from his shirt, unfolding in a flurry of misty gray feathers and stretching up to brush the low hanging lights over the desk. “Oh man, Dad would have lost his shit if he knew, I was Oxala!” 

“He probably already has.” Sebastián turned his attention back to Miguel and Julio, who were gaping open mouthed like a couple of fishes at the luxuriantly stretching angel currently sprawled across Sebastián’s desk. “Miguel, Julio, I’d like you to meet Luciano. He’s…an old friend.” 

“…You sent us to hunt down an angel?!” Miguel managed, as Sebastían simply nodded. Julio threw his arms in the air, pointing accusingly at Manuel. 

“An angel, are you fucking kidding me?! We can’t even get Birdbrain over there to leave us alone—”

“Who are you calling birdbrain, you little beast?!”

“—Do you know how many times I’ve tried to torch him too?! God, I’m so stupid, I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner!” Julio was off on a tirade and it was obvious—Miguel reached back and touched his arm. 

“It’s not like we’re dead, right? And…”

“You’ll be compensated for your troubles, naturally.” Sebastián added, and Miguel nodded, looking from his little brother to Sebastián with a bright grin on his face. 

“See? We can even eat somewhere nice now!”

“That thing threw me across a church yard!”

“Oh come on,” Luciano shifted off of the desk and looked at Julio, smiling cheekily and holding out his arms, “I could grant you a wish! Get your enemies smited, grow a couple of inches, wish away that awful acne—” 

Julio made a noise akin to a squawking bird, and Miguel grabbed him by the arms, holding him back as Luciano burst into a peal of laughter, clutching his sides. Before he could do anything though, Sebastián simply cleared his throat, and all three of them fell silent. “I need to have a word with Luciano in private. Your paychecks should be in your office.”

Almost immediately, the two hunters looked at each other and in a rush of limbs and an excited yelp, scrambled out of the office. Manuel rose from his chair and looked over Luciano’s graying, molting wings, and folded his arms. “You could have told me he was an angel. I could have helped them.”

Sebastián took a stack of papers out from under Luciano’s leg, and simply gave a smile. “Now, where would have been then fun in that?”


End file.
